Eager with anticipation, Dick Travers scarcely tasted his food, and the sight of Dave calmly munching away annoyed him.
"For goodness' sake, Chub, do get excited—or something."
"Let it be something," yawned Dave. "Nerve-tingling business isn't in my line."
Hank Merwin lighted the lamp on the bow of his boat, and a powerful reflector sent a stream of light to pierce the blackness.
"Jacklight's a-goin'—git aboard, lads," instructed the trapper.
The boys eagerly obeyed. In a moment, comfortably seated, they heard the faint sound of ripples lapping against the sides of the boat, then the fire in front of the cabin gradually grew smaller.
Hank handled the paddles with great skill, keeping far enough out to clear the aquatic plants which grew in profusion.
"Lads," he said, in a low voice, "no talkin'. Our frien's kin do all that," and Dave smiled, for the voices of the two on shore reached them with astonishing clearness.
Occasionally, the cry of some bird or animal in the forest sounded weirdly, while night-hawks, hovering over the lake, made their sharp voices heard at frequent intervals.
"Oh, ho," murmured Dave; he lay back and repeated, in barely audible tones: